“Good! One more thing. Not a whisper of this to Jem Robson.”
“Mr. Robson knows nothing of it. What I have learned has been from Mr. Galpin.”
“Nor to Galpin, either. Or any one else at The Guardian.”
“Have you a fancy to play at mysteries and secrets, Judge Dana?” teased the girl.
“Mysteries? Secrets? Great Scott, young woman! Collusions and conspiracies! Trust an old fox of the law. If it should come to an issue and it could be shown that The Guardian people had knowledge of your precious little plot—well, I should n’t care to have the case to defend. So, work as quietly as you can. I think a hundred women—if they’re representative, mind you,—will about do the business.”
He contemplated her, with a gentle light in his pinched, wrinkled, shrewd old eyes. “My dear,” he said, “I remember four years ago, at the Federated German Societies, how you stood up, straight and brave, before all of them.”
“Do you?” said Marcia, answering his smile.
“You’re still doing it. Still standing up as you did then. I’d do a good deal for you, if it were only in memory of that.”
“Thank you, Judge Dana,” she said simply.
“And I’d do a good deal for that young hot-head, Jem Robson. About anything I could do, I guess.”